That Man 3

by Nelle L’Amour

  “No, Blake. I’m craving some of that sausage. Take off your swim shorts.”

  His brows shot up and he smiled that sexy crooked smile. “You know, baby, I love a girl with a hearty appetite who understands mine.” He quickly did as I asked, and in a few hot breaths, he was kneeling before me, buck naked with his giant cock pointed at me. His smile widened and his daring eyes glimmered.

  Still sitting back on my heels, I reached for the syrup and drizzled a drop of it on the crown. Lowering my head, I flicked it with my tongue. His cock jumped.

  “Mmm.” I licked my lips.

  I went back for some more, this time rolling my tongue around the wide rim.

  “So good,” I moaned as he hissed. Indeed it was—a heady combination of sweet and salty though the sweetness of the syrup prevailed. Blake let out a throaty groan.

  I lifted my head and met his gaze. “Blake, I have to tell you something.”

  His brows arched. “What might that may be?”

  “I’ve always loved sausage swimming in syrup.”

  Grinning, Blake eyed me shrewdly, knowing damn well where breakfast was heading (no pun intented). “Yeah, that’s the way I like it too,” he replied as I doused his monstrous length with the thick golden liquid. I ended up using the rest of the bottle.

  Dropping my head again, I wrapped my lips around his crown and sucked. So, so, good. “Mmmmmm,” I hummed. I was so hungry—and turned on—I could eat him whole.

  He let out another moan, this one deeper and louder. “Tiger, take it all.” I felt his large hand press on my head, coaxing me to go down on him. Slowly, I dragged my mouth down his rigid shaft, savoring the maple flavor along the way.

  “Oh yeah.” He hissed again, releasing my head as I made my way back up.

  “Harder, deeper,” he groaned.

  This time I worked my mouth down his hot thick length, dragging my teeth lightly along the pulsing vein, until I could feel the tip tickle the back of my throat.

  “Jesus, tiger. That’s so fucking good.”

  His compliment inspired me to repeat the movements and pick up speed. I heard myself humming as I worked his cock fast and furious. My throaty sounds harmonized with his feral groans. His immensity filled the hollows of my cheek and, in no time, I could feel it pulsing inside my mouth. Preparing for orgasm.

  “Jen, baby, I’m going to come. Are you ready?”

  I nodded as I descended on him one more time. As I took him to the hilt, his organ exploded deep inside my mouth, blasting hot cum down my throat. I squeezed my eyes and swallowed. My mouth stayed clamped on his cock as he slowly pulled out. Lifting my head, I opened my eyes and met his.

  “Fuck, tiger, that was the best head I’ve ever gotten.”

  I gazed down at his cock. It was still semi-erect, glistening with a combination of cum, saliva, and syrup. Still, so, so edible. My tongue wet my lips.

  “My mother always told me to clean my plate. To never leave leftovers,” I said as I bent down and licked the delicious remains of our pancake and sausage breakfast. He came again.

  He blew out a hot breath. “Your mother taught you well.” He lifted my head up by my ponytail and slammed his mouth onto mine.

  *

  After breakfast, I wanted to take another shower. We were both so sweaty and sticky. Blake had a better idea. Ten minutes later, after climbing down the steep cliff side stairs that led to a private beach, we were jumping waves in the ocean. Though a competent swimmer, I was somewhat afraid of the ocean. But Blake held me in his strong arms as we navigated the fierce waves. Like always, he made me feel safe. I kissed him many times while waves licked my clit.

  After half an hour of frolicking, Blake carried me from the ocean and set me down on the warm, sparkling sand. I was dripping wet, and though the dip was refreshing, I was a little chilled. I was eager to wrap myself in one of the large beach towels we’d brought along.

  Drying off, I couldn’t help but notice how truly god-like Blake looked. He was so much bigger than me. So much more powerful. Every finely honed muscle glistened in the sunlight, and on his golden skin, specks of the salty sea sparkled like fairy dust. There was something so damn sexy about him with his hair slicked back and his wet-lashed blue eyes glimmering like jewels. I swear, I wanted to jump him.

  Running his large hand through his shimmering dark hair, he caught my eyes on him. “Are you staring at me again, tiger?”

  I smiled sheepishly and felt myself blush. “I can’t help it. Sometimes, Blake, I don’t think you’re real.”

  A devilish smile splashed across his face. “Believe me, baby. I’m the real McCoy.

  I felt my towel and bikini fall from me and, in the sound of a crashing wave, I was rolling in the sand with him.

  “Are you going to fuck me?” I giggled.

  “That’s the plan.”

  “But don’t you have ocean dick?” I’d read once that men’s organs shriveled in the cold salty water.

  He smirked as he shoved off his swim trunks. “That doesn’t apply to me.”

  My eyes widened. No, it didn’t. Blake’s cock in its full glory was ready for action. I blissfully screamed out his name as he rolled on top of me and plunged it into my pussy. Another first. I was being fucked on the beach. In a bed of sand.

  “Does. This. Feel. Real. To. You?” he beat out on each hard, long masterful stroke.

  “Yes,” I gasped. So real. So good. So right.

  He continued to ruthlessly pound into me. His hands were anchored in the sand while mine dug into his muscular flesh. The warmth of the sand beneath me contrasted deliciously with the coolness of his ocean-wet body above me. His eyes shone fierce with passion and determination.

  “Do you want it harder, tiger?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  He obliged and grunts accompanied the forceful blows, each so deep it hit my G-spot. His pubic bone rubbed against my clit and my nipples hardened with erotic pleasure from the friction of his chest. The crashing ocean waves sounded in my ears as my own glorious waves began to curl inside me like a tsunami. My shrieks competed with the squawking gulls and Blake’s grunts and groans. I was about to have an orgasm of epic proportions.

  “Oh, Blake, I’m going to come big time.” The words choked out.

  “Hold on, baby.” On the next deep, powerful thrust, we climaxed together, his massive orgasm riding my sea of fierce waves. Tears leaked from my eyes as he shouted out my name. He collapsed his head onto my breasts as if they were two soft pillows and breathed audibly against them. I ran my fingers through his damp silky hair and caressed his sun-baked back, relishing the warm ripples of his muscles beneath my hand. Tears continued to scroll down my cheeks. Oh, how I loved him—so very much.

  We stayed in this position for several long, sensuous minutes, his molten cock buried deep inside me. The music of the sea played in my head as his warm body sheltered me from the cool ocean breeze. I never wanted to lose him, and at the thought, my arms wrapped tightly around him, wanting to hold him forever. I needed to hear him say those three words again. As if he heard my thoughts, he raised his head and gazed into my eyes. He told me he loved me and that I was his tiger. My heart melted as my insecurity lifted. I had to stop thinking I might lose him or he would hurt me. He doused me with kisses and my worries dissipated.

  Slowly, he pulled out of me and rolled off my body. “Stay there,” he ordered. “You look so beautiful. I want to take some photos.”

  I bolted to a sitting position. My body was covered with sand from head to toe. I tried to fix my damp sandy ponytail. It was futile.

  “Blake, no! I look terrible.” I hastily brushed off some of the sand and smoothed my hair.

  “Trust me, you look beautiful,” he responded as he bent down to retrieve his iPhone on the beach blanket we’d brought along. He sat back down, cross-legged, beside me.

  “Let’s take some selfies.”

  “No,” I protested again. “I’m a mess.”

  “You look perf
ect.” He drew me into his arms and playfully kissed my lips as he held up his phone. Click. “Now smile.” Click. I pecked him on the cheek. Click. “Make a funny face.” We both stuck out our tongues. Click. Our tongues met. Click. And we kissed again.

  After the hot open-mouthed kiss, Blake insisted on taking some solo pictures of me.

  “As long as I’m not naked. Just my face.”

  “Promise. Scout’s Honor.” With his free hand, he gave me the three-finger hand signal and then squatted in front of me.

  I shot him a playful dirty look. “You were never a Boy Scout!”

  “Nope. Scout’s Honor,” he laughed as he clicked away.

  After a dozen or so shots, I begged to see the photos—just to be sure Mr. Bad Boy wasn’t shooting me nude. Before he could say a word, I snatched the phone out of his hand and pressed the camera roll. A barrage of snapshots filled the screen. My eyes popped, and my heart did a flip-flop landing hard in my chest. Shaking, I clicked onto the photo I couldn’t get my eyes off. The phone was muted, but I didn’t need sound. My mouth fell open as I watched a video that Blake had taken. The video of Bradley and his hygienist, Candace, groping at each other in a heated embrace. Close to hyper­vent­ilat­ing, my heart raced and my breathing labored. Blake’s voice hacked into my state of shock.

  “See, baby, you can trust me.”

  I stopped the video—I didn’t need to see it to the end—and finally got my mouth to move. “How could you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You took that video of Bradley all over his hygienist and sent it to me? You’re Charles Palmer the third?”

  Squeezing his eyes shut, Blake flung his head back and muttered three words. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

  “Fuck you!” Tears of rage welled up in my eyes. “How could you do that to me?”

  Blake ran a hand through his hair and sucked in a gulp of air. “Baby, I wanted to save you.”

  “Save me?” My quivering voice had risen an octave. “Save me from the first man I loved? The man I was going to marry?” I shook my head as tears streamed down my face. “No, you wanted to destroy him.”

  “You deserved better.”

  I swiped at my tears. “Oh, yeah? Someone better? Like some bastard like you?”

  “Jennifer, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Honestly.”

  “Well, you did, you deceitful, conniving bastard.” I clambered to put my bathing suit back on. “Here… take your fucking phone. I’m out of here.” Rising to my feet, I hurled the phone at him. He managed to catch it as I stormed off.

  “Wait!”

  “Don’t you dare follow me!” I shouted without turning to look at him.

  With blinding tears, I plodded through the warm sand as quickly as I could, my feet sinking deeply into the sparkling granules. Dark thoughts bombarded my mind. What sick fuck would do something like that? How could I fall for someone like that? And how was I ever going to work for him? The ocean breeze sent a chill up my spine as hot tears scorched my face. I needed to get out here and clear my head. Pack up my stuff and call for a Lip Service car. Yes, that’s what I would do.

  My calves ached from running in the sand, but the sooner I could get out of here, away from the bastard, the better. Not far from the steep cliff side stairway that led up to Gloria and Jaime’s glass palace, a sharp pain stabbed at my right foot. Yelping a loud “ow,’ I stopped dead in my tracks and winced as the piercing pain radiated up my leg. Balancing on my left leg, I examined the sole of my other foot. Fuck. I’d stepped on a piece of glass, and the three-inch shard was lodged deep in my arch. Without over thinking, I squeezed my eyes and yanked it out. Tears spilled down my face as I let out a loud shriek of pain. Clutching the shard, I surveyed the damage. I was left with a deep, jagged gash; blood gushed out as nausea rose to my chest. I was never good with blood. Lowering my foot to the sand, I tippytoed so as not to get sand in the wound. The location of the cut made that impossible. I tried walking on my heel; that didn’t work either. I pondered my next move as blood soaked the sparkling grains. When I heard Blake calling out to me and getting closer, I picked up my pace. I tried putting my foot down, but the pain was too much. I almost buckled. Lifting my heel back up, I forced myself to keep going. The bleeding got worse, and a lightheaded feeling set in.

  “Jen!”

  Before I could take another agonizing step, two strong hands gripped my shoulders, holding me back. Blake.

  “Let go of me,” I screamed through my tears. To my relief, he released me, and I hobbled away. I groaned with each step. The pain was unbearable.

  Blake trailed behind me. “What’s wrong? Why are you limping?”

  “I stepped on a piece of glass,” I blurted, not slowing down. My tears were blurring my vision, and the blood loss was taking its toll. I was a walking disaster. Losing stamina, I stumbled. Just before I hit the sand, Blake caught me. His strong arm clamped my waist.

  “Let me see your foot.” Reluctantly, I lifted my foot to show him the damage.

  “Hold onto my shoulder for a minute.” I moved my hand to his broad shoulder. As I gripped it and suppressed a moan, he crouched down and examined my wound.

  “Jesus. That’s really deep.” I peeked at my foot and shuddered. It looked liked some kindergartener had smeared a jar of red finger paint all over it. It was a throbbing, bloody mess.

  “You’re going to need to get stitches.”

  “The only thing I need is to get away from you,” I snapped back at him.

  “I’ll take you home after I take you to an emergency room. That cut’s going to get infected if it’s not treated properly.”

  “Leave me alone.” I choked out the words, my physical and emotional strength dwindling. I tried to put pressure on my foot, but it was futile. I gazed woefully at the daunting cliff side stairs ahead of me. How was I going to make it up all those steep, jagged steps? There must have been a hundred of them. Maybe more.

  “Climb on my back,” Blake commanded, still squatting. “Or you’re going to bleed to death right here.”

  I was going to die? In my head, I fantasized the headline in The Hollywood Reporter: “Aspiring Porn Producer Found Dead at Famed Malibu Residence.” Subtitle: “Cause of Death Being Investigated.” Blake’s voice hurled me back to reality.

  “Just fucking do it!” He sounded frustrated and desperate.

  There was no way I was going to make it up those steps. I had no choice. Holding on to him for balance, I hopped behind him and then mounted him, curling my legs around his waist and wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He stood up.

  “Hold on,” he ordered as he began to trudge through the sand with me on his back, piggyback style. I tightened my grip around him as if my life depended on it. Because it did. His rippled muscles brushed against my chest, and I could feel his chest rise and fall with every step. Huge drops of blood dotted the sand, leaving a trail behind us as we forged ahead.

  I don’t know how he did it—probably thanks to climbing all those steps at the Santa Monica Stairs—but he got us up the impossible cliff side, Step by steep step. He wasn’t even out of breath when we got to the top. He was obviously in top shape from working out so much. He gently deposited me onto of one of the cushioned wicker rocking chairs on the deck. I noticed for the first time that I’d gotten blood all over his swim shorts and there were traces of it down the side of his muscular leg as well.

  Blood quickly puddled on the wood planks. While I silently freaked, Blake grabbed the towel that was draped over the back of the chair and told me to press it against the open wound.

  Leaning forward, I crossed my injured leg over my other knee, and did as he asked. Shit. It hurt.

  “Wait right here. I’ll be right back,” he said, dashing into the house.

  Believe me, I was going nowhere. I was in no condition to walk even if I could. The loss of blood had made me woozy. I felt faint and was thankful to be resting in the comfortable chair. Remembering I was still holding the
fragment of glass in my other hand, I set it on the small round table next to me. At least, no one would step on it again.

  Blake was back in no time with a tray of first aid. A box of Gloria’s Secret Band-Aids, a bottle of peroxide, and a clean washcloth. Setting it on the table, he got down on his knees. He removed the bloodstained towel and examined my foot. Blood trickled onto his thighs, but he seemed oblivious.

  His brows furrowed. “This is going to sting,” he said softly as he soaked the washcloth with the peroxide. Holding my ankle, he dabbed the moistened cloth on the laceration.

  I yelped and almost leapt out of the wicker chair. “What the fuck are you doing? Haven’t you hurt me enough?”

  His eyes stayed focused on my foot. “I need to clean this up. Get the sand off.”

  I bit down on my bottom lip as he attended to the gash. The expression on his face was intense. After a few more dabs, he tossed the blood-soaked cloth onto the deck and tore opened the Band-Aid box. Frantically, one by one, he ripped open the plastic bandages with his teeth and pasted them over my open cut. They were white with little hot pink hearts in the center. He must have gone through entire box because a mountain of wrappers sat on the deck. There wasn’t a single one left for my broken heart.

  His forehead creased as he inspected his handiwork. “Fuck. This isn’t working. You’re bleeding right through all the Band-Aids. Don’t move. I’ll be right back again.”

  He quickly returned. This time with another dry white towel in one hand and a leather belt in the other. One of the floral sundresses Gloria had gifted me was draped over his sculpted forearm. Crouching, he hastily folded the towel up into a thick six-inch square and pressed it hard against my bleeding wound.

  Another loud gasp of pain escaped my throat. His gaze met my tearing eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  I found it bitterly ironic that he’d just repeated the words he’d said in a different context just a short while ago. I didn’t know what hurt more… the wound to the sole of my foot or the wound to the soul of my heart. One shed blood; the other bled tears.

  I watched as he strapped the leather belt around the makeshift bandage and my foot.